


Ab Aeterno

by Nyanoka



Category: Christian Bible
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Falling is strangely easy.





	Ab Aeterno

**Author's Note:**

> Quick 1-hour practice piece to get me back into the flow of writing and break writer's block since I've been slacking on that for a few months. I am playing very fast and loose with the source material, and I am aware of that. But this, while taking general cues from the source and related, is based on a different story I have tbh.  
> This is not something I'm particularly fond of in terms of writing, but I thought I'd post it anyway since I'm bad about publicly posting writing pieces, and I want to break that habit. Un-beta'd.

There is a vividness to the world, to the garden his Father has created, bright sparks of blazing butcher’s bloom nesting shyly among lush greens, above the modest yellows of blooming dahlias and next to the pinkish, curling zinnias scattered about the verdant earth, in-between the looming, tawny oaks and uneven, patchy birches and alongside the freckled, circling mushrooms.

From the canopies, the birds, crested and speckled and bright, warble and croon and cry out in raising hymns and low melodies and frenzied rhapsodies, all too similar to that of his siblings. They flit between groping branches, gravid with colorful fruit and their twisting nests. Underneath, the beasts wandered, content and all differing in form yet pleasantly cordial.

It’s all new, indiscernible, alien, yet, _undeniably_ , beautiful.

He admires, he loves, and he _hurts_. It burns his desperate lungs, his fragile heart, his innermost core, his very being, heady and heavy and _overflowing_ like a supernova.

That’s how he always remembers.

And that’s how he spends his days, in-between his siblings’ teasing and his own duties.

And he wanders his Father’s creation, seeing and feeling and speaking with beasts, great and slight, fanged and toothless, yet beloved by them all.

For them, he always starts from the outlands of the world, and he treads carefully, pearly wings folded tightly against his form and still of breath, always wary of hurting, of stepping unnecessarily, of defiling, and he greets them all.

Once is more than enough, too much even.

Thus, it is fitting that the final step should lead to falling.

When he reaches the inner ring of the garden, circling the blooming trees and past the trickling streams and rushing rivers, abound with wriggling fish and algae, he parts the flowering shrubs and hanging vines, and he stops and sees, as if for the first time.

And he _breathes_.

Curling hair, darker and fairer than inky dusk, and eyes brighter, livelier than the constellations he had helped hang. Bare of any cloth on sightly brown skin and with finely crafted limbs, he, the man, takes his hesitation away and he _wants_ and _needs_ and _loses reason in a moment, comes to love someone more_.

And he thinks, this is what it means to truly love.

And he aches and aches and aches.

But he cannot forgive or forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title to this is Comma Vomit.


End file.
